Circle of Fire (5 page)

“Here!” he called, his voice stronger than before. “Stop throwing things at me.”

She smiled, and yet his comment made her uneasy. What sort of man made jokes in a situation like this? A man who was used to being in dangerous situations. And just how wise was it to get involved with this man? While she had no doubt she’d need his help, she knew nothing about him. Not even whether she could trust him.

“Still with me, Madeline?”

There was a hint of tension in his voice, as if he’d sensed her sudden doubts. She nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see her. “Yes. If I throw a rope down, will you be able to tie it around you?”

“Yes.”

Her palm was still bleeding, she noticed, as she ran back to the truck and hauled the rope out of the box in the back. She wiped it hastily on her jeans, then
wasted several minutes trying to secure one end of the rope to the front of the truck before running back to the well.

“I’m lowering the rope.” She fed the hemp into the well, but her gaze was drawn to the dark outline of the old homestead. Had something moved—or was it just a trick of the light?

“Got it,” Jon said.

The sudden sound of his voice made her start. “Tell me when you’re ready, and I’ll reverse the truck to haul you up.” She watched the rope dance around and wished he’d hurry. The feeling that someone was watching them was growing—or was it simply a bad case of nerves?

“Ready.”

She climbed into the truck and shifted into reverse, grinding the gears in her haste. The bleeding from her palm had slowed, but it still made managing the stick shift tricky. Wincing, she slowly backed the truck up. The need to hurry, to get out of this area as fast as she could, was growing. She bit her lip, trying to ignore it. It didn’t matter what was out there watching them; she had to get Jon out of this well. And if she backed up too quickly, she just might kill him.

When the top part of his body was visible, she pulled on the hand brake and climbed out.

“Not a trip I’d recommend,” he gasped, looking up at her as she approached.

He was a mess. Sweat beaded his forehead, and his face was white with pain. His whole body was trembling, even though he was doing little more than simply hanging on to the edge of the well. She grabbed
his right leg, helping him over. He fell, more than rolled, to the ground.

He was, incredibly, wearing the same short-sleeved black shirt and dark jeans she had first seen him in, but which now looked considerably the worse for wear. How had he survived in this weather?

“We have to get out of here.” She knelt beside him and undid the rope. He was so cold, his fingers were almost blue. She undid her jacket and placed it around his shoulders.

He gave her a wan smile of thanks. “You have to … to do something first.” He closed his eyes and leaned back against the well.

“What?” she asked, rubbing her arms as the wind whipped around her.

“Remove the shaft from my arm.”

She’d seen the wound as she’d helped him over the rim of the well, sticking out from under the edge of his sleeve, and that was about as close as she wanted to get. His whole arm had swollen, and the handkerchief he’d wrapped around the wound was a bloody mess. She’d risk causing more damage if she tried to do anything other than getting him to a doctor. “No. I can’t.”

He grabbed her wrist when she tried to rise. “Madeline, you have to take it out. I can’t last much longer.”

There was something more than urgency in his voice. She fought the instinct to pull away from his touch and wrapped her fingers around his instead, offering him the warmth of her hand. Warily, she met his gaze. In the blue depths of his eyes she saw a hint of desperation—and a pain that went far deeper than anything she’d ever faced.

She tore her gaze away and shone the light toward the farmhouse again. Though she hadn’t seen any movement nor heard any unusual sounds, something was out there watching them. They had to get out of this area quickly. She glanced back at Jon and felt something tremble inside.

“I don’t think we’re safe.” She hesitated, her gaze drawn back to the shadows. “I’ll remove the damn thing if you want, but I won’t do it here.” And she was relieved when she saw him nod.

J
ON BIT BACK THE URGE TO SWEAR AND RELUCTANTLY RELEASED
her hand. What she said was true enough. While he couldn’t hear anyone in the immediate area, he knew someone was bound to see the headlights sooner or later and investigate. Better they left before anyone got too curious.

He just had to hope moving around didn’t drive the shaft and its deadly splinters too much deeper, or he’d be in real trouble.

Madeline put her shoulder under his, lending him her strength as he tried to rise. His foot slipped out from underneath him, and he dropped heavily. She cursed, her breath warm against his ear as she went down with him. The shattered end of the arrow scraped against rock, and he bit back a groan. Heat flashed through his body. He gulped down air, fighting the rush of dizziness.

She had to take the arrow out. The white-ash shaft was killing him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice full of concern and a slight edge of panic.

“Not your fault.” He opened his eyes, desperate to find something, anything, to distract him from the pain.

Her face was close to his, and in the harshness of the headlights, her hair seemed afire. She wasn’t what he’d expected. She was smaller and slimmer than she’d first appeared, and she smelled of roses. And fear. He couldn’t tell if she was more afraid of the situation or of him.

“We have to get moving,” she said softly. Her fingers twitched against his shoulder, her touch light yet warm.

He followed the direction of her gaze. Something stirred in the shadows, a whisper of movement accompanied by the slightest hint of a footfall. The scent of magic whispered across the wind, tainting the cold night air.

She was right. They had to get out of this field. He couldn’t afford to find trouble now, when Madeline was in the firing line. She’d risked enough just getting him out of the well.

But he couldn’t let her go before she’d removed the arrow.

They reached the truck. Madeline opened the door with her free hand. He grabbed the top of the door for support and pulled himself in, half falling across the seat as he tried to avoid catching the edge of the shaft again. He struggled upright, her jacket falling from his shoulders as he watched her wind up the rope at the front of the trunk.

There was another hint of movement in the shadows beyond her. He frowned, eyes narrowing. There was something awfully familiar in that momentary
flicker, something that sent a chill racing through his body.

Again the shadows moved, and this time he saw it. The creature was big and black and moved on four legs.

And it was no animal.

J
ON TWISTED AROUND IN THE SEAT, TRYING TO FIND
M
ADELINE
. They needed to move before the creature became too curious. It might be nothing more than a coincidence that it had appeared in the same field he’d been shot in, but there was no sense in chancing it. The driver’s-side door opened and Madeline climbed in. He curbed the urge to tell her to hurry and looked out the window instead. The creature no longer sat in the shadows. Maybe it had lost interest in them and moved on. Then he smiled grimly.
The chances of that happening are about as good as me flying right now …

Madeline ground the gears, and the truck jerked forward. He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes, fighting his need to sleep. There was a lot he had to do. He couldn’t afford to sleep yet.

Again, the faint scent of roses surrounded him. He smiled slightly. It was a scent that suited her. The rose was a beautiful flower, yet its stem was covered with prickly thorns. He had a feeling much the same could be said about Madeline.

The truck slid to a sudden stop and he was jerked forward, then abruptly back. He clutched his arm and swore softly.

“Sorry.” She barely glanced his way as she scrambled out. “Have to do up the fence.”

“Leave it,” he said through gritted teeth, but he was speaking to air. “Damn.”

He rolled down the window and leaned out, looking for her. And saw the cat in the distance, its shape indistinct in the night as it sauntered toward them.

“Madeline, get back in the truck.” He kept his voice low, not wanting to scare her or spur the cat into action.

She stopped looping the wire and turned toward him. Though he couldn’t see her features clearly, he felt the leap of fear through her body. She was ready to run, but she didn’t, and he thanked the gods for sending him a sensible woman.

“Why?” she asked quietly.

“Just get in the truck,” he repeated, his gaze never leaving the creature.

“But …” She hesitated, then dropped the wire and walked back quickly.

The cat stopped, watching them for several seconds before it turned and sauntered back toward the dark outlines of the homestead. Had it lost interest, or had it found what it was looking for? He sensed it was the latter and hoped like hell he hadn’t landed Madeline in trouble too.

He rolled up the window as the truck moved off. At least he had a starting point now. All he had to do was track down the cat once Madeline had removed the arrow. He grimaced.
Yeah. Real easy
.

The truck bumped quickly along the old road. He held on grimly as Madeline pulled around a sharp right-hand turn, then reached out and gently touched
her leg. She jumped and gave him a wild-eyed look. Only then did he realize just how much he’d frightened her.

“It’s all right. We’re safe,” he said, cursing himself for being a fool. He was supposed to be an empath—why in the hell hadn’t he sensed what she was going through? “Ease up a little. No one’s after us now.”

She swallowed hard and nodded. The brakes ground harshly as she pulled over to the side of the road and stopped.

“What did you see back there?” she asked softly.

He half shrugged, not wanting to scare her any more than necessary. “Nothing. Just spooked by the darkness.”

She studied him for a moment. He could sense her uncertainty—about him and the situation she’d been forced into. He suddenly wished there were more light so he could see her eyes. He had a feeling they would tell him a great deal. Then he frowned. He was in Taurin Bay for one reason: to find the missing kids and to stop the people responsible for their disappearance. He didn’t have time for diversions—even one as interesting as Madeline.

“I need you to take the arrow out of my arm,” he said, more abruptly than he’d intended.

“And I think you should let a doctor do that …” Her voice trailed off as she met his gaze. “Why are you so reluctant to see a doctor?”

Good question
. “Walking into an emergency room with an arrow wound might attract the sort of attention I’m trying to avoid.” Which was the truth, but not the true answer to her question.

“It might have hit an artery or something.” She hesitated, then added softly, “I might kill you.”

It was a normal fear, given the look of the wound, yet instinct suggested her fear stemmed more from something else. The tremor in her voice spoke of a past acquaintance with death—and that it was an acquaintance she had no wish to renew.

“You won’t kill me,” he said quietly, sensing it wouldn’t take much more to scare her into running. “If an artery was severed, I’d have bled to death by now.”

“But—”

“I’ll be all right. I just need the arrow removed. Every time I move, it digs a little deeper.” And killed him just a little bit more.

She swallowed and nodded. “There’s a first aid kit under your seat.”

He leaned forward and retrieved it. She turned on the overhead light, then took the kit from him. Her fingers shook as she sorted through the bandages and antiseptics.

“I don’t have a pair of tweezers big enough.”

“Just use your fingers.” He reached across and caught her hand. Her fingers were soft and warm against his, silk compared to sandpaper. “I’ll be fine.”

“
I
damn well won’t,” she muttered, then took a deep breath and gave him a shaky smile. “Try not to yell too loudly. We don’t want to wake the neighbors.”

Her smile lit her eyes and dimpled her cheeks. He closed his eyes, holding this image in his mind as the warmth of her fingers moved to his arm. White fire twisted through him—a living thing that could so
easily kill if it were left too long. He held his breath, waiting, as she tentatively grabbed the shattered end of the arrow shaft.
One, two, three
.

As if she’d heard his unspoken words, Madeline wrenched the arrow from his arm. Pain ripped through his body and he jerked sideways, falling against the door, gritting his teeth against the scream that tore past his throat.

“Oh, hell …”

Her voice seemed a million miles away, the touch of her fingers suddenly so cold compared to the fire that raged down his arm and threatened to consume him.

He gulped down air, battling the urge to be ill—fighting the desire to just let go, to let the darkness in and take the pain away.

Moisture ran down his arm; then he felt the rough texture of a towel pressed against the wound. He bit back his curse and concentrated on the faint smell of roses, trying to build a wall around the pain and shut it away. She began to bandage his arm, and for an instant, the darkness loomed again. Then he took a deep breath and felt a wisp of magic running through his soul. Suddenly, he had to stop himself from grinning like an idiot. It seemed that the white ash hadn’t done as much damage as he’d feared.